Hello! I’m Elizabeth. I’m 12 years old, and this is my story.
When I was in first grade, I had a major worrying issue. It’s pretty embarrassing, but it’s true. I surprisingly didn’t have this problem in kindergarten. But it was terrible in first grade. I begged my parents to homeschool me because I missed my mom so much when I went to school. I got so homesick that sometimes I almost made myself sick worrying so much during the eight hours that we were apart. I had way too much stress at age six. I was in advanced groups and I was worried that I wasn’t smart enough to stay in them. I was a worry wart.
I was also terrified of getting sick. I have no idea what triggered it in the first place, but I couldn’t stand the thought of throwing up. I only wore clothes that I hated so if I got sick in them, I wouldn’t mind. But I did mind. I insisted on bringing an enormous metal bowl in my backpack on the rare chance that I got sick on the first day of school. I also kept a plastic bag on me at all times. …show more content…
I remember distinctly one day my mom was going to get groceries. I threw myself in front of the door, making sure she didn’t leave me again. Every time she left, it felt like someone had ripped my tiny heart out, spat on it, threw it to the ground, and crushed it into a billion pieces. I sobbed and begged her for at least ten minutes not to go, or at least let me come with her. She had no idea how much I needed her. Once she somehow slipped out the door, I threw myself on the ground, trying not to have a full blown anxiety attack. When I had anxiety attacks, they weren’t pretty (I still sometimes have them to this day). My heart rate and blood pressure increased to dangerous levels and I thought surprisingly dark thoughts for a normally very happy six year-old. I laid on the doormat, blending right in, until she came back. This happened more often than I’d like to